


eleven and a quarter

by mildlydiscouraging



Series: ephemera on my back [3]
Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Found Family, Gen, Internal Monologue, POV Second Person, Spoilers, takes place during the most recent episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-13
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-12-14 19:20:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11789745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mildlydiscouraging/pseuds/mildlydiscouraging
Summary: Sometimes you just want to sweep the kid up into your arms and crush the life out of him, in the complete most loving way possible.





	eleven and a quarter

Sometimes you just want to sweep the kid up into your arms and crush the life out of him, in the complete, most loving way possible. It's ridiculous, but it's true. Like some weird sort of survival tactic, you want to make sure that if he has to die anyway, it's from love and care—that if he has to die anyway, he doesn't die alone.

"Who's your guy?" You're teasing, but not really. Now that you have your heart back, your whole heart, a lot of things are happening, but this is one: where you thought you loved before has grown wholly inadequate. Where you thought you felt as much as you could, you feel even more.

Angus throws himself at your midsection, full tilt, and you're really looking forward to that last minute heal from Merle because boy, is _that_ gonna leave some bruises. You can't blame him, though, and while the others get up to their own joking-but-not-joking farewells, you sort of fold yourself over him.

"When all this is over," you say quietly into his hair, "you and me, kiddo. I'll buy you every last one of those damn mystery books and we'll read them all."

You can feel his tiniest sniffle and squeeze him closer. He's so... small. Eleven (and a quarter, a tiny voice that sounds like him in your head adds) years old. A genius detective and a whiz kid wizard, but eleven years old nonetheless. He still shows up to your magic lessons sometimes with bandages on his knees and a missing tooth, and now he's supposed to stop the apocalypse.

Ruffling his hair, you pull back enough to see his face. "Sound good?"

He nods, his glasses making his eyes look even bigger under the tiny smears of tears. You wish you knew how the time loop thing works so you could relieve this moment over and over—not because it is particularly good, but because you know what will happen next.

You're not crying. He definitely is. Gods, you really don't want that to be your last memory of him, not in any way at all. Gods, when did you become like this? When did "this" stop being normal? Something to make him smile...

Fishing around in your pocket, you give him a patented Taako Smile and flash him your plastic sheriff badge. "You're the sheriff of magic now, Angus."

He smiles, wide and sincere. He takes the plastic from you and you can see where it bites into his hand from him holding it too tightly. It feels like this is maybe as good an ending (not an ending, not an ending, you'll both be back, this is temporary) as any, but still you can't bring yourself to leave.

"You got your spell slots and everything?" You ask. You take his glasses and clean them off on the hem of your tunic. "Fuck, I sound like a parent on their kid's first day of school, you'll be fine, whatever." Your expression says you couldn't care less, but the way you carefully slide his glasses back onto his face says different.

"Um, well," he says, "I actually don't have a wand anymore? Since mine broke and then you snapped the Umbrastaff in half."

"Huh. Shit."

You dig around in your bag for a minute and manage to extract your old wand. There's still a seam halfway through it from where it had been repaired after you first arrived on the moon, and it seems like a lifetime ago. You have just remembered an entire lifetime in the time since, though. Maybe that's it.

When you hand it to him, you get the feeling he knows what it is, or at least, what it means. "But don't you need a new wand too, sir? I have my crossbow and Magnus's knife, if you—?"

"Nah, I've got some on the ship."

And in the same second you say it you realize it's true, and in the same second you realize you would've given him it anyway.

He's just eleven years old. You hug him one more time.

**Author's Note:**

> i literally wrote this in fifteen minutes procrastinating formatting something else
> 
> GRIFFIN, ARM MY BOY GODDAMMIT, HE'S GOT NOTHING, KEEP HIM SAFE
> 
> tumblr @[moonfullofstars](http://moonfullofstars.tumblr.com)


End file.
